


A Work In Progress

by bionic



Series: A Work In Progress [1]
Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-15
Updated: 2010-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-07 07:26:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bionic/pseuds/bionic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The beginning of something David never saw coming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Work In Progress

That morning, David woke up early. He hadn’t slept well the night before, both anticipation and anxiety gnawing away at his muscles so that he twitched and shifted restlessly, not able to catch more than a few hours of sleep at a time. Things were going to be hectic for the next few weeks, but he also felt a kind of peace amidst all the nervous energy. This was the end of one chapter of his life and the beginning of another.

It had felt like a whirlwind, being on the show, singing on that brilliant, huge stage, and now there was a sense of peace at not having to see those cameras for a while or feel the bright burn of the spotlights on his face, blinding him, creeping up behind his eyelids when his head hit the pillow.

To be honest, he wanted to go into the studio again. There was something incredibly vindicating about the idea of having a physical thing like an album to show for all the work he had done. It was a dream come true.

But despite all the good things that David knew were coming, the tour and recording and being able to travel and see his fans, he was going to miss the close quarters of the Idol apartment. He was going to miss the one person who’d been there till the end, who’d given him advice and helped him with his songs and kept him motivated when he was sick.

He was going to miss sleeping next door to David Cook, so freaking much.

And it was incredibly ridiculous, so he pushed the thought to the back of his mind. Cook wouldn’t want him to mope, anyway. They had press to do, so David consoled himself with the fact that their time together wasn’t over, not yet. They’d be on tour together, would probably get sick of each other. Their friendship was not going to end with a flip of a switch.

David had warmed up to Cook almost immediately, letting him get near and pat his back or ruffle his hair in friendly gestures, but sometimes he found it quite hard to believe that someone as cool as Cook would want to hang out with him outside of press junkets and interviews. He wasn’t even old enough to order at the bar.

But Cook had made it obvious. He liked joking with him, talking together after dinner, knocking softly on his door many evenings just when David needed someone to talk to most, about the competition or his dad or whatever and anything, as if Cook knew exactly what he needed in order to sleep some nights.

So it was entirely too early to be worrying about the end of something that had no immediate end in sight. It wasn’t all that bad. David hummed softly to himself as he brushed his teeth.

 

* * *

  
It was still L.A., so the heat wasn’t unbearable, for which David was grateful. But the air was moist and humid, sticking David’s white button-up to his back as he finished signing autographs for a few stragglers, waving goodbye to their smiling faces. He slid into the black SUV awaiting him and shut the door as he let out a loud breath of relief, sinking back into the leather.

Three days of being away from Cook with the staggering amounts of press they had been hurtled into headfirst, and David’s hands were shaking as he got shuttled to a radio station, one of the few radio interviews he was scheduled to do. He was promised it would be short and they wouldn’t ask questions that were too personal.

In the back of the car, sitting tired and limp against the window, David was almost ready to shut his eyes and catch a short nap on the way. The low hum of traffic noise was, as he had discovered, the music luring him to sleep these days more and more. He’d just closed his eyes when his phone suddenly buzzed against his thigh.

With heavy fingers, he fished it out and thumbed a button, checking the message.

  
      whats up?  
      they asked for you earlier.  
      swear its like we’re joined at hip.

 

David smiled, thinking of Cook’s face, the little smirk he knew would be on his lips just then. He replied.

  
      miss me already?

  
He didn’t have to wait long until Cook wrote him back, his response, simply:

  
      yes.

  
When David didn’t respond, his phone vibrated a minute later, the screen glowing brightly.

  
      check your schedule.  
      lunch tomorrow, 11 at yours?  
      pencil me in, mr bigshot.

  
David was fairly certain that he had a huge grin on his face, and it lasted well into the radio interview, even throughout the shoddy day that left him exhausted as he returned to the hotel.

He thought Cook might’ve enjoyed the separation and the time apart. But maybe he was feeling what David was feeling, like he was missing a limb or some other crucial part of his self. An empty space beside him when he walked, a silence when there should have been bright laughter, loud and unapologetic and during the softer moments, quiet and surprising.

It had only been a few days, but it felt like the air had turned thin and briny up until David received the text. Then he felt his lungs expand, as if he could breath easier. It was strange, but David didn’t question it because it was natural to miss him after spending so much time in his presence, like being separated from a twin. It was natural, but perhaps not healthy.

Not healthy to become dependent on someone else for his happiness, especially someone as transient and elusive as the new American Idol.

Somewhere in there, David knew Cook had become a close friend, perhaps the closest friend that he could trust his doubts and fears with. And that was only a little bit frightening. He wasn’t sure if Cook could say the same of him.

Before he got into bed that night, David threw all questioning thoughts out the window. He was determined to show up tomorrow without bags underneath his eyes.

 

* * *

  
David slept deeply during the night, and morning came fast and hot. He woke up in a sweat, not remembering what he’d dreamt, but the sheets were sticky and tangled around his legs. There was no time to mull over it, he was already running late. He’d have to shower and get ready in thirty minutes since he’d failed to set his cell phone alarm, and there was no way he’d keep David Cook waiting.

The hotel phone rang just as he finished buttoning up his black shirt, and he hastily pushed up the sleeves as he bent to answer the call.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Archuleta, Mr. Cook is here to see you. He’s waiting in the lobby.”

“Thanks, be right there,” David said quickly and practically slammed the phone down in his haste to put his shoes on and scramble downstairs. He glanced in the mirror on his way out: no dark circles, just a slightly damp head of hair and an incredibly eager expression on his face. It would have to do because he wasn’t about to fix his hair. Cook had seen him worse.

David expected to see at least a small mob around Cook when he stepped out of the elevator, but the security had done a prime job at looking intimidating and only a handful of women surrounded Cook as he waited in the couched section of the lobby. David felt his smile grow as he approached and the girls noticed him before Cook did. Their chattering rose sharply and David made it over before they drew any more attention to the little group.

“Hi, hi!” David said and shook the girls’ hands, and then he glanced up at Cook who had stopped in the middle of an autograph. He seemed genuinely happy to see him, his smile small and a little secretive but so very sincere.

“Archie, hey,” David said, smiling wider before he glanced back down to finish signing the girl’s hotel pamphlet. She and the others soon dispersed as the security closed in, asking politely for them to step back and stay in the lobby, and please, do not follow the guests. As soon as they were afforded the privacy, Cook pulled him into a warm hug that lasted entirely too short for David’s liking, but David took it gratefully and rested his hand on Cook’s forearm, squeezing briefly before falling away.

“You look great!” David said, surprised and pleased that Cook looked just as good as he had the last time he’d seen him.

“I took liberties,” Cook smirked and one shoulder lifted in a shrug. He started walking back towards the elevators and motioned for David to follow. “Make-up can work miracles.”

The ride up was short, even though it was spent in silence, but it was a comfortable silence that David had grown accustomed to and associated with times he and Cook had been in one of the their rooms, working quietly next to each other. David usually liked to claim the bed, cross-legged or on his stomach, a lyric sheet in front of him and his laptop to the side. Cook almost always ended up sitting on the floor with his back to the bed, or on the nearby loveseat, fingers tapping away at his laptop and a pencil between his lips for no good reason that David could ascertain except to have something to nibble on as he worked.

David’s good mood dimmed somewhat when he remembered that they would probably never have moments like those again.

His was a bit slow to exit the elevator, and Cook noticed. He nudged him and David glanced up quickly, an automatic smile on his face.

“Hey, you okay?”

David nodded and quickened his pace as he lead Cook to his room.

“I guess we’re ordering lunch in?” David asked as he slid the keycard through and the door clicked open softly. Cook followed him closely and almost ran into him when David stopped to take his shoes off.

“Sorry,” Cook mumbled distractedly, but then he looked sheepish, as he was about to take a step onto the cream carpet. “Ah, you’re so considerate, Archie.” He shook his head and followed David’s example, slipping off the black boots with ease just inside the door.

“It’s a habit, I always like to walk around barefoot or with socks.”

The suite David had been set up in was a decent size with a nice couch and a flat panel tv mounted on the wall, a small sound system that looked pricier than it actually was, and further in the back, a queen sized bed next to the large, sliding-glass doors of the balcony, with the blinds currently pulled shut.

David watched as Cook looked around. He belatedly remembered the mess he’d left in the bathroom and hurried over to the small alcove where it was hidden in an attempt to clean up quickly, before Cook saw.

“Is the restaurant downstairs any good?” Cook called as David wadded up his dirty t-shirt and boxers in his still wet towel and shoved them under the sink, hoping Cook wouldn’t find the need to look down there. He was suddenly very aware of how bad the bed must look, and the dirty socks on the floor next to it, or the small collection of change that had somehow gathered on the nightstand.

He had to physically restrain himself from walking over and tidying everything up. The sudden urge to appear perfect was unsettling and completely unnecessary, since Cook had seen how his room had been during Idol, and he’d seen how messy Cook’s room had been, too. He sighed and walked back out, finding Cook on the couch with one knee drawn up and curiously thumbing through the channel guide that was left on the seat next to him.

“It’s pretty good, but I’ve only had their chicken alfredo pasta.”

Cook looked up at him and flashed a quick smile. “Classic.”

“Mm, can’t really mess that up.” David found himself grinning back. He sat down on the bed and hovered near the phone. “Is that what you want?”

Cook had glanced back down again at the channel guide but now his head darted up. He looked at David blankly for a second, like the question had thrown him. Then he was back, eyes intense as he focused on David’s face. “Yeah, that’d be great. And just a water, please. I’m trying to lose the beer gut.”

David rolled his eyes and grabbed the phone, pressing the room service key. “I don’t think you need to lose weight,” he said as he waited. Cook laughed dismissively and David didn’t know why, but he felt the need to press the point. “Seriously, you look great, and uh, pasta? Not exactly a salad, you know.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Cook whispered loudly.

David lapsed comfortably into a giggle. It already felt more like before, where David Cook’s voice was always a close rumble somewhere nearby, and his presence a warm and reassuring weight in the room.

 

* * *

  
It was half past noon, and David was incredibly glad that he didn’t have anything scheduled for the rest of the day except a short phone interview later. He hadn’t eaten much, but he was too caught up in conversation with Cook to really care.

The conversation had started with food, what their mothers liked to cook when they were young, and moved to high school and teachers and girls and dating and really, David had lost the thread long ago on their current topic. He thought they were still talking about dating, and Cook was recounting the worst date he’d ever had. David was glad they weren’t talking about work, if only just this once, because it gave him a chance to get to know Cook outside of their little bubble of new-found celebrity.

They were sitting on the floor together against the couch after David lost the battle to awkwardness and slid down to sit beside his friend since Cook didn’t seem to want to budge from his comfortable sprawl on the carpet. Occasionally, Cook would trace invisible patterns in the carpet as he talked. David found it an oddly vulnerable gesture. It wasn’t often people got to see the little ticks David Cook had when he was deep in thought, lost in a private world. David’s cheeks suddenly warmed at being privy to this side of someone millions of people would kill just to be near.

“I had no idea she was disgusted by tattoos – absolutely _none_. We met at the bar I was playing at so I didn’t really think a little ink would be a big deal, you know?”

David nodded like he knew, but he didn’t actually have a clue about this kind of stuff, what bar-dating etiquette was like, how you went about chatting someone up. Cook thankfully grinned and didn’t mind indulging him a little. He had been sucking on his fork throughout the conversation. David was mildly distracted by this, but he gestured Cook to continue and slurped at his Coke. Cook reached up to the cart to place his fork down on his mostly empty plate. Then he sat back and started to fold the cloth napkin up against his outstretched leg as he spoke.

“So when she saw mine, she freaked out. Screamed at me in front of everyone and everything. It was horrible,” he said and turned to him with a weary grin. “And I had to play that night, so…needless to say, _that_ was the most embarrassing moment of my adult life.”

David laughed and let his head fall back against the cushions. “I wish I had cool stories like that to share. But I’m pretty vanilla.”

“Vanilla?” Cook raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Then what does that make me, Dark Cherry?”

David poked him in the stomach. “Yeah, maybe.” He sipped the last of his soda through a straw before setting the glass to the side and laughing.

“You’ve never been on a date?” Cook asked, looking at the blank tv screen.

“Not a real date, no,” David admitted and felt embarrassingly younger than he did a second ago. “I – I mean it was just the movies and stuff, the bookstore. My parents are kind of protective. I want to go to dinner and a movie and clubbing.” David stopped talking abruptly before he could sound anymore inexperienced than he already did.

“You’ll get to do all that with time, man. Don’t worry about it.” Cook patted his shoulder absently. “Besides, I’m sure you won’t have trouble finding someone to go out with you.” That grin was back in place. David fidgeted under the attention.

“Maybe, but they -. I don’t know. Maybe they won’t like _me_-me, you know?”

Cook scoffed. “How could they not? I like the real you. And my judgment is law, so everyone has to like you.”

David laughed and they had closed the gap between their bodies now that his shoulder brushed along Cook’s, clad in a faded, thin black t-shirt.

“Illegal not to,” Cook said with his lips tilted in what David thought was his most flattering half-smile. Cook was looking at him, and David only then noticed how close his face was.

Only then noticed how warm Cook was beside him.

“You, um.” David swallowed. “Could you teach me? To do that?”

“Do what?” His voice was low and jagged this close. David could almost feel it. He could hear every nuance in it, and it was kind of like an old road, full of potholes and dips and rocks.

It was bit of a turn on. David refused to believe anyone could remain unaffected by that voice for long.

“To be – ” _sexy_, he wanted to say. To be sexy and not an awkward seventeen year-old who everyone thought of as _cute_. “I want to be confident.” He said instead.

Cook held his gaze, then his eyes slipped to David’s lips. “You already are,” he half-whispered and David swore to everything holy that David Cook was going to kiss him, right there and then.

And then he did. And David found his eyes slipped closed too quickly, his lips returning the pressure too eagerly. He pulled back with a gasp after what was probably the shortest kiss in Cook’s history of kisses.

“I-I…Ohhhh, _damn it_.” David made a strict point not to curse, ever. But he’d just kissed a man, so he figured he couldn’t do much worse with one little swear word.

Cook seemed to snap back into his calm, adjusted self, just like that. He reached out and placed a warm hand on David’s own that was rubbing up and down his thigh nervously.

“Hey, it’s fine. It’s fine. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

David recognized that tone of voice. It was David Cook’s concerned voice for sappy emotional girls who cried a lot. And he was not sappy, or a girl. For a split second, Cook had even maybe thought of him as _sexy_, and definitely kiss-worthy.

It was what he wanted, after all. It was why his day couldn’t start off right without a word from Cook. It was why he had felt like something was absent when he had everything anyone could ever want, except David Cook.

When David Cook went missing from his life, all the pieces became incongruous and no longer fit.

“You meant it,” David said at last, pushing away Cook’s hand. “So kiss me again.” Even if it meant everything he’d built up in his head about right and wrong were more like guidelines than rules, more opinions than beliefs.

It was terrifying. Cook was the only person he could trust with his doubts and fears. Cook was his best friend.

More terrifying than performing live on national television. Maybe just as much as when he’d lost his voice.

And he was looking at Cook now who had pulled away as if burned. His face was unreadable.

“You don’t mean that.”

David refused to look anywhere else but at him. “Convince me,” he said and leaned over slowly until his breath was puffing softly against Cook’s lips. He could feel wide eyes watching him, but when they kissed a second time, David’s fear dissolved a little more until he had Cook moaning, and then there was nothing left to hold onto but a bright, burgeoning hope.


End file.
